The Nameless Castle eBook

“The flood has made a new survey of the lake
necessary, as the evil cannot be remedied until it
has been determined what obstructs the outlet.
Our surveyor made a calculation as to the probable
cost of the work, and found that it would require
an enormous sum of money—­almost five thousand
guilders! Where was all this money to come from?
The puzzling question was answered by that angel from
heaven, Baroness Landsknechtsschild. When she
heard of the sufferings of the poor people who had
been driven from their homes by the inundation, she
offered to supply the entire sum necessary. Now,
it seems, something besides the money is required
for the undertaking.

“The surveyor, in order to calculate the distances
which cannot be measured by the chain, needs a superior
telescope, and such a glass would cost two or three
thousand guilders more. As your lordship is the
owner of a telescope, I take it upon myself to beg
the loan of it—­if your lordship can spare
it to the surveyor for a short time.”

The next day Count Vavel sent his telescope to the
parsonage, with the message that it was a present
to the surveyor. Then, that he might not be again
tempted to look out upon the world and its people,
the count closed the tower windows.

PART VI

DEATH AND NEW LIFE IN THE NAMELESS CASTLE

CHAPTER I

Since Count Vavel had ceased to take outdoor exercise,
he had renewed his fencing practice with Henry, who
was also an expert swordsman.

In a room on the ground floor of the castle, whence
the clashing of steel could not penetrate to Marie’s
apartments, the two men, master and man, would fight
their friendly battles twice daily, and with such vigor
that their bodies (as they wore no plastrons) were
covered with scratches and bruises.

One morning the count waited in vain for Henry to
make his appearance in the fencing-hall. It was
long past the usual hour for their practice, and the
count, becoming impatient, went in search of the old
servant.

The groom’s apartment was on the same floor
with the kitchen, adjoining the room occupied by his
wife Lisette, the cook.

The door of Henry’s room which opened into the
corridor was locked; the count, therefore, passed
into the kitchen, where Lisette was preparing dinner.

“Where is Henry?” he asked of the unwieldy
mountain of flesh, topped by a face as broad and round
as the full moon.

“He is in bed,” replied Lisette, without
looking up from her work.

“Is he ill?”

“I believe he has had a stroke of apoplexy.”

She said it with as little emotion as if she had spoken
of an underdone pasty.

The count hastened through Lisette’s room to
Henry’s bedside.

The poor fellow was lying among the pillows; his mouth
and one eye were painfully distorted.